


The Things That Scare Us Today

by thericketandoo



Series: The Sword and the Pen [1]
Category: The Hour
Genre: Depression, F/M, Gen, Self-Doubt, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:26:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thericketandoo/pseuds/thericketandoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Freddie's fingertips rest idly on the keys of his typewriter, cigarette between his lips. The page was blank, as it had been for the last hour or so, and would most likely stay as such.</i>
</p>
<p>post 2x06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things That Scare Us Today

**Author's Note:**

> First part of a series of post season 2 vignettes written on the idea that to make good drama, no character can ever be too happy. Sorry about that!
> 
> The title of this is from the lyrics of Regina Spektor's "The Sword and the Pen" which is, subsequently, the title of this series.

  


Freddie's fingertips rest idly on the keys of his typewriter, cigarette between his lips. The page was blank, as it had been for the last hour or so, and would most likely stay as such.

_  
_

_Where are the Hell they? Where are those bloody words?_

  


This wasn't an unusual occurrence, these days; being unable to write, well, anything. The problem was when he did manage to write something proper it was full of repeated words or careless spelling errors, and often bizarre and nonsensical sentences, making it practically impossible to decipher. 

No one had said anything, or seemed to notice at all, mostly because Lix had taken it upon herself to edit (if you could call it that) everything Freddie put out since his first day back over a month ago. He hadn't even noticed the first time she replaced his copy with her edited version.

"Please, don't take offense, dear, but I made a few adjustments", she had said as she placed both her edited copy, and his original side-by-side on his desk. The floor seemed to disappear from under his chair as he compared the two papers. 

"It's alright. You'll be back in the fold in no time." She touched his cheek, gave him a trademark Lix half-smile, and went off.

Now Freddie sits at his desk trying, desperately, to find the words that once poured so easily from his mind. That once sharp, crystal-clear space in his head was now filled with a haze, thick as the fog so stereotypically associated with London (as if the headaches and unsteady hands weren't enough). 

 

_Who are we without the story? Who am I without the news? Without… you?_

 

Fingers steadied the cigarette between his lips. He inhaled, and glanced up and across to Bel's office, putting out the cigarette. The door was closed, and the lights out. He was alone at the Lime Grove studios. Alone with all of these dangerously dark thoughts. Incompetent, foolish, Freddie. He had promised Bel he wouldn't be too late, but what is 'too late' when time seems to have all but run out?

If Bel thought something was wrong, she chose to say nothing. Maybe because the one time Freddie felt whole was with her. Together in her apartment, behind closed doors, or anywhere else they would not be seen. He was "still a married man", after all, and they worked together. "It's not professional", he could hear her say with eyes in that way that told him she was lying.

 

_Is it work if I only sit here, pretending to have something to offer?_

 

After all they had been through he couldn't help but feel betrayed. It would only make sense for everyone else to ignore his struggles. "Poor thing has been through enough", they'd whisper (or at least he had imagined they would), but would Bel? No. She was the one person who could break down his stubborn pride. If he any pride left.

He closed his eyes, sighed, and typed:

 

**Sorry for everything.**

 

He lets his hands slip off his typewriter and onto his lap. He was as broken inside as he appeared on the outside.

  


  


\-- 


End file.
